Fait Accompli
by MissJinny
Summary: Complete. Wolfwood:Vash unwritten Yaoi. Eventual fluff. It starts where Nicholas ended in the series, only in this story he does not end.
1. Chapter I

"I wasn't supposed to die like this!"

Fire is a painful thing for the body to handle. Nerves don't take well to the extremes of heat and searing flame. Fortunately for me, it wasn't real fire; only searing pain that felt like white hot flames due to dozens of red hot pieces of lead.

The vibrant light from the windows seemed oddly out of place. I always thought I'd die in the darkness, not questioning my life decisions, and bleed out in stubborn silence. But to bleed to death in the light, questioning every deed I have ever done, wondering if I could have done as he has and saved myself somewhere down the line...

I wasn't supposed to die like this.

I was an orphan, born and bred to be what I am. Well, bred anyway. I've learned to rely on myself, my instincts, my intuition, and, God help me, it was my only way of life. So when did I need the approval of others? Those women... That man...

"Is it fair to ask forgiveness?"

I'm not jaded enough to believe what I've done has been right. It's only convenient to think it was just. There's no man who has ever been sinless, at least there I can take comfort. No, not even him...

My fingers have gone numb and with a surge of fear I have never felt before in my mortal flesh, I know I'm about to die. I don't even have the strength to hold my head up any longer. My vision's gone blurry, and my eyes rest on the puddles of blood that now stain the elegant carpet. I laugh as my eyes fall closed for the last time; even the pools of my blood start to look like his jacket.

---

Apparently forgiveness was too much to ask for. Heaven isn't supposed to hurt like this. This must be Hell.

"Wolfwood?" A soft whispered voice breathes into my ear. Surely it is Hell, because that voice could never be this close to me willingly; not without the blare of gunfire ringing around us. It has to be a demon waiting to feed on my anguish.

Insistent hands with nimble fingers are tugging at me. A fresh stab of pain tears across my stomach and burns its way up my chest. I try not to gasp, unwilling to give the evil creature any pleasure in my pain.

The hands pull away, apparently I was unsuccessful. Cool fingers touch my face, cross my forehead and stroke my cheeks.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." The same hushed voice, the tone is apologetic. The mantra continues quick and breathless, the volume decreasing until there is nothing. The fingers pause on my cheek at the same moment, I can feel them quivering just slightly.

I try to say something, I'm too confused about what's happening to lay silent. Between the dryness of my throat and the coating of old blood I can only croak.

"Oh!" It was a soft exclamation, as though they weren't expecting me to be awake.

I try to speak again after swallowing painfully several times, but I do no better. The fingers are roaming on my face again and they stop at my chin. A calloused palm covers my lips and the warm breath is on my ear again.

"It's okay. You're still badly hurt, just go back to sleep." Sleeping... so I'm not in Hell. I'm not dead. Maybe there is a God who listens to peon's like me.

The hand on my face and the breath in my ear remain. I'm tempted to turn my head, just to see what would happen, but I hurt too much to dare. Lips graze my ear as silent words are spoken. The palm is lifted until only fingertips remain but they, too, disappear after a moment.

I'm disappointed. I shouldn't be, but I can't help it in my condition. I'm still surprised to be alive, and for now that knowledge is enough.

---

Slanted light falling into my eyes is making my head pound. At least the room is quiet. Last night's events are a hazy distant memory, I'm pretty sure I've only dreamt them.

"Mr. Priest! You're awake!"

Millie... I squint into the light and offer up a grimaced smile. She seems pleased enough. The bags she carries are set on the table and before long the bed dips beside me where she sits.

"Meryl said you looked a bit better, but I didn't get the chance to check this morning." Millie smiled brightly and checks over my bandages. They are an odd reminder of the hands from last night, but they aren't the same. "You've been unconscious for days!"

I'm not entirely surprised. You're body tends to shut down after being riddled with holes.

"Have you seen Mr. Vash yet?"

I know my eyes widen in surprise, surely she doesn't know. I shake my head.

"Oh," She frowns a bit but perks up again. "Well, he's been prowling outside your door every night. It's like he's a guard dog, isn't that cute?"

"Yea," I croak, unconsciously looking toward the doorway. Pacing there every night. I can almost see the fluttering of his coat as he turns. Sounds like the self-sacrificing bastard.

"I'll go make you something to eat, okay?"

Before I even have the chance to nod she's up and out of the room with her bags again. I wonder what the view from that high up could be like.

My eyes are heavy, my body hurts, I just want to sleep.

---

I wake up violently later that night. My stomach is unsettled and with growing panic I realize I'm about to be sick. Of course there's no one around. I curse them all. But I take it back as soon as I think it.

Oh, God.

I struggle to roll on to my side at least. How great would it be to be saved from a blaze of gun fighting only to drown in my own vomit? My body hurts, damn it why do I have to do this alone? Ah, yes, because I've always been alone.

My stomach lurches and I manage to bite my tongue and force the last quarter turn out of my muscles until I lay precariously hanging on the edge of the bed. The bed groans with me and my stomach clenches again.

Bile and half digested salmon sandwiches are not a good combination. It doesn't spatter to the floor like I expected. My watering vision manages to make out the form of a dust bin just under my head. Huh, who would have thought?

"Feeling better?"

I manage not to jump and only roll my eyes up. There he is. Blue-green eyes are hidden behind those damned yellow circular lenses. I planned on making a smart-ass comeback, but my stomach has other ideas.

I lurch again, even dry heaving a couple of times and lay limp when its over. God, I must be a total mess.

A comforting hand is rubbing circles at the small of my back on the only exposed patch of skin between the bandages. I didn't even notice him sitting down by my hip. I'm tempted to pretend to be ill to see if he'll stay longer, but I won't.

"Only Millie could feed a sick man sandwiches," he smiles down, not really at me, and his hand pulls away. I'm only a little disappointed. "I'll ask Meryl to make some soup for you tomorrow."

"Thanks," I grunt, rolling painfully onto my back again. I get a stitch somewhere between my breastplate and organs and press my fist to it. It helps a little.

"Here," Vash stands and pushes his arms beneath the sheets. I know I stop breathing for a second as they wrap loosely around my waist and pull up. He bends and his face starts looming toward me. This has to be the strangest predicament I've ever been in. He looses one arm and tugs a discarded pillow from by my head and tucks it beneath the small of my back before lowering me to it. His arm stays for a moment longer than necessary.

He must have felt me staring because he pulls away quickly with a hollow laugh. "Is that better?" His voice has gone back to that low whisper. I nearly break out in gooseflesh. I nod, it is better.

"Good," he smiles again, that same empty one he usually gives away so easily.

He straightens the blankets with a quick tug and escapes into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. I watch the silhouette of his boots from the crack under the door. He stands there for nearly five minutes before he slowly walks down the hall.

I wonder idly if I croaked out his name if he would come back. I clench my teeth and force myself back to sleep before I can try.

---

There was soup waiting for me as he promised. Meryl is a very good nurse. She changes my bandages with practiced ease, cleans my wounds with little extra pain, even cleans up the mess from last nights illness without so much as a grimace.

I actually manage to sit up today. The tall headboard with bunched blankets and stuffed pillows certainly help. My blanketed cross is leaning against the wall across from me. I don't think I'll be able to lift the damned thing again.

"How's the soup?"

I swallow the mouthful I have and smile disarmingly. "It's perfect."

Meryl blushes a little turns back to the laundry. "Do you think you could stomach some more? Or is that enough?"

My stomach roils at the thought of another full bowl. I set down the one I have on the window sill, it's still half full. "I think this will be plenty."

The sky is an unGodly shade of blue today. I stare up into it and let my mind drift, fruitless of any real thinking. I don't know how long I sat there like that, but I came awake when Meryl spoke again.

"Vash! Would you like something to eat?"

I turn my head slowly, catching the first glimpse of him from my peripheral vision. He looks exhausted.

"Sure, what are you having?" His voice is rough. I wonder if he's been up all night.

Meryl ladles out a bowl of soup and hands it to him with a stern look. "Soup. Now eat all of that."

"Aye Aye!" He salutes and goose steps to the table. He's such a shit.

Meryl returns to the laundry, folding sheets and shirts. He's now across from me, staring down at his food. He picks up the spoon and blows a little before eating. "How are you feeling?"

He didn't even look up at me. Ass. I turn back to the window, shrugging just a little. If he doesn't notice, it's not my fault. You're supposed to look at the people you talk to. Besides, even staring up into the sun hurts less than watching his detachment. I think he's angry with me. Even with the midnight sessions of concern. I don't know what to say to make things better.

He leaves minutes later, chair screeching on the unpolished floor and exits without another word. I can hear Meryl mumbling to herself as she picks up his dishes. I hope Millie comes by soon. Maybe we can talk about simple things and she can drag Meryl out of here so I can be alone for a while.

My wish is granted sooner than I thought, but not how I was hoping.

Gunfire, lots of it.

I can hear Millie crying out for help and Meryl is already a blur of white cape flying out of my doorway. Adrenaline and panic help to numb the pain. What do you know, I can still lift that damned cross after all.

It's a lot farther to the front door than it should have been. The weight of the crucifix is getting too heavy, I may have managed to drag it out into the sunlight, but I'll never be able to shoulder it.

Three crooked stairs to the clay packed ground. I shouldn't be sweating this much. The cross is dragging behind me, it's making a divot. They'll be able to follow me awfully easy with it; not that I'm going to be a hard target.

Finally, I can see them at the end of the alleyway. Meryl and Millie are behind several wooden barrels, peeking across the tops. There he is, red trench flapping--though my overheated skin doesn't feel a breeze. The edge of those irritating lenses flash in the afternoon sunlight. He's talking, but I can't hear it over my ragged breathing and pounding of my strained heart.

It's slow motion watching him get struck in the shoulder. His jacket blows backward and a spurt of crimson stains the wall behind him. I don't remember moving.

When I come back to myself I'm standing in front of him with the pungent smell of gunpowder clouding the air. I can feel the tatters of my bindings, the sting of sweat in reopened wounds. I manage to turn my gaze a fraction. What do you know, I can lift the damned thing.

Far to the front, there are two men laying, bleeding onto the parched earth. I'm partly relieved to see they are still breathing. At least Vash won't be angry at me for their deaths.

"It's okay," he says from behind. A gloved hand touches my arm, and as though it was its added weight to break me, my arm collapses. The gun snaps back together as it hits the ground. I only wish it was that easy to fix myself again. The ground is looming, oh, this is not going to feel good.

At least I was right about that.

I can barely hear Millie crying out over the rushing in my ears. Vash's face is hovering by mine, I would make fun of him for looking so upset, but I don't find the situation all that humorous myself. He pulls me across his shoulders and stands up.

I know he's trying to hurry without jostling me around too badly. The pain of the pressure of my sternum on his shoulder is almost too much. Thankfully they really weren't that far from our makeshift home.

I've been dumped unceremoniously by unruly Thomas's, pissed off women, and even a select few men; but it's never been as agonizing as falling onto that bed.

Meryl and Millie are already making new bandages, digging out antiseptic and fresh thread and needles. Vash is hovering by my head, looking torn between helping or getting in the way. At some point, he's taken off those ridiculous glasses.

His wavering blue-green gaze is unsettling. "You shouldn't have been out of bed."

"Sorry for saving your skin." I smile, but it's more of a grimace.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Meryl pushes him out of the way and the moment is lost.

It's a long, aching time later before the women are done sewing up my old wounds and wrap me in enough cotton linen to make me a mummy. Finally, they finish and order me to stay put and rest. I had no intention of doing otherwise.

I didn't think he'd be back before nightfall, but he comes in only minutes after the women leave. He leans against the door and stares over at me with the worst blank expression I've ever seen. It hurts just to look at so I close my eyes and turn my head away.

"Why?"

I would be stupid to wonder what he was referring to. I take a bit of my own advice and look at him before I speak. For some reason the words stick. Huh, maybe that's why people don't look at each other.

"Some people say you're a devil," my voice is thick and foggy as I fight off unconsciousness, he doesn't seem to mind. He even smiles a little at my comment. "But I know better."

Vash pushes off of the door and walks with his slow elegance into the room, standing over the headboard and leaning on his crossed arms. It's even harder to talk to him when his face is only several inches from mine.

"You do, huh?" He smiles a little again, something with a bit of substance is in it.

"Yup," I feel my eyes drift shut and accept it. Since when did I live by rules? "You aren't a devil at all. Far from it."

It's quiet, but I can still feel his gaze boring into my head and feel his breath across my face. "So what am I?"

I open my eyes, staring fixedly up. "You're a fallen angel."

His eyes widen comically, apparently that wasn't what he was expecting. He grins suddenly, he thinks I'm joking. I'll be more than happy to disillusion him again.

"You have all the signs."

"Do I?" He sits up a bit and taps one long finger against his chin. "What signs are those?"

"You only do what is just. You never take a life. You even feel the pain of trying to be a mortal, even though you aren't." He looks very skeptical, his mouth quaking to hold back that same sloppy grin. "And you're too beautiful to be human."

I've struck a nerve. He's walking away with a rigid spine. But I didn't lie, so I'm not going to take it back by making it a joke. Vash stops at the door again, one hand resting on the knob. "You never really answered my question."

"Yes I did." I'm staring at his back, my eyes are dry and prickling, I don't dare blink yet. "You're just refusing to see it."

His shoulders slump. I don't know what I've said to make him that upset. I watch him leave again, such a swirl of brilliant color.

My eyes are relieved when I close them. Fuck it. Fuck him. Maybe things would have been easier if I had died.

---


	2. Chapter II

I've got to piss. I'll have to remember not to overexert myself next time I nearly die. It makes the trip to the bathroom hardly worth the trek. It's too tiring to walk the hall, let alone stand. I sit to relieve myself, leaning against the toilet tank and enjoying the cold it gives off. I think I might have a fever.

I nearly fall asleep sitting there. Wouldn't that be an interesting thing to explain to the girls? I struggle up, staggering out of the room and use the wall for support. At least there aren't any pictures on the walls for me to knock down while I'm moving... okay, dragging along them.

There's a low noise that bothers me. I have to stop, just for a moment. Without the shuffling-drag of my feet, the noise is a little louder. It's weeping.

One of the women?

It's from inside the door I'm leaning on. I could keep going, my room is only one more door down and across the hall. Aww, hell. The door opens easily under my weight as soon as the knob is turned. I actually clutch at it when it swings to keep my balance.

"Vash?"

He stiffens, lifting his face from his hands and looks over at me. I've never seen his face this open.

He wipes nonchalantly at his eyes with the back of his hand, "You should be in bed."

"I had to use the bathroom," I reply with detached tones. He really is an angel. Only innocence can weep for the pain of the already damned. I stumble across the room, sitting down heavily at the foot of his bed. Thankfully his knees have been pulled up to his chest or I probably would have crushed one of his feet. I lay back with a groan. Why is his bed softer than mine? That's not fair.

"Then you should go back to bed." I can hear the smile in his voice, but it's the hollow one. I can tell without looking.

"Yours is better," I say with a sigh. It really is. If I can somehow pull my legs up onto this thing...

"Wolfwood, why would you leap in front of me?" He stumbles over the sentence. I'd entirely forgotten that particular conversation. Apparently he's anxious for an answer because the bed is shifting as he twitches. "Nicholas..."

The use of my given name draws my mind out of its blissful haze. I struggle to sit up, barely make it to my elbows and collapse again. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Because you're worth more than I am." It's an honest answer. It even hurt a little to admit, but I still feel better for saying it.

He snakes around and out of the blankets without kicking me--for which I am grateful. He's looming over me again. I wonder if I should tell him how uncomfortable it makes me. I doubt I will.

"I'm not worth more than you." He looks very serious, even a little angry.

"You don't have to stroke my ego, Vash, I know my place in things. It's one of the perks of being a priest." I smile, yawn, want to curl up and nap.

"You're not really a priest."

"No?" I crack open an eye, bunching a handful of his blankets in my fist and dragging them down to flip across me. Much better.

"Real Holy men don't shoot people."

"Symantics." Vash frowns, I knew he wouldn't believe me, but I don't really want to talk about it. "So what keeps an angel like you awake at night?"

There he goes again, stiff, closed off. He sits back away from me, up against his pillows. I'm the ass this time; though I still don't know why.

It takes what little is left of my energy reserves to sit up and pin him there so he won't run. Not physically of course, a puppy could lick me at the moment. But he's withdrawing from social interaction, so I'll peg him there with it.

I lean back against the headboard, rolling my head onto my shoulder and watching him from under heavy eyelids. He's looking at me cautiously, probably thinking of ways to escape. "If I stop calling you angel, will you drop the priest thing?"

He seems to mull it over. The tension slowly fades from his face and frame. Good. I slide bonelessly down the headboard and onto the mattress, moaning in appreciation. I hear him stifle a short laugh and crane my neck to look at his face instead of his knees. "I'll get up in a minute," I promise. As soon as I retain enough energy to stand.

He unfolds himself from the corner of the bed and easily shifts across me and onto the floor. I'm not looking forward to another piggyback. Surprisingly he straightens his blankets and pulls them up high to cover my chest. I give him a questioning look but he only smiles.

He turns from the bed and starts toward the door, only in his pajama bottoms. He's going to leave me in his rooms. He'll probably sleep in my bed. I try not to frown, this bed is much better after all.

The door is softly shut and all the light in the room is blocked out. I never realized there was no window in here. The bed dips and I nearly jump out of my skin. His voice is low and quiet again, right by my ear. "At least take the inside."

It takes several long seconds before I realize he's telling me to move over. It's a little surprising how quickly my body can gather energy for that.

He slides in soundlessly, sighing in content as he pulls the blankets back up into place. It takes me a while to relax and breathe. The bed is a bit too small for two grown men to share like this. Our shoulders, hips, one calf, all pressed together. It's not altogether uncomfortable. I close my eyes and pretend we're both here for another reason. Now I am uncomfortable.

Vash shifts and all the points of contact are gone. I nearly sigh in regret. But at least this way I feel my muscles relaxing and I nearly fall asleep. A rough, well-toned arm falls across my waist, the palm of his hand on the flat of my abdomen. The pressure across three reopened, reclosed wounds makes it really hard to sleep.

He snores softly. Cuddling in his sleep, who would have thought it from the outlaw. But he's already sleeping so he won't notice if I...

Tentatively, knowing he was going to wake up and look at me in disgust, I touch his shoulder with the tips of my fingers. His skin is warmer than I thought it would be. Angels are supposed to be cool to the touch. The scars are thick and rough, but the unchanged skin between them is soft. Even more delicate than most female flesh I've touched this way.

He hasn't noticed, his breathing is still soft and steady. It feeds my foolish courage. I reach past his shoulder, palm flat on the plane of his back. There are more scars there, but they suit him. I continue to touch, a long slow stroke as far as my arm can reach. His breath hitches and he shivers before turning further into me. His head is now on my pillow, his breath in my ear, his hip back to mine.

It's amazing how sensitive he is. I would have expected his nerves had been numbed by now. It's almost as though he's touch-starved. That makes sense. He's a drifter, and the whole world thinks he's a demon.

I treat myself to one last long touch, fingertips tripping over the great divots in his flesh and catch lightly on the metal grate. He mumbles incoherently and I know I've had my fill for the night... more likely for good. But hey, I'm not going to discount any nice dreams I might get out of this.

My arm retreats back to where it belongs, but I can't help curling it below his arm. I try to fool myself by thinking I might hold him in place by doing so. Oh well. I may as well enjoy it while I can.

Damn my traitorous body... I fall asleep less than two minutes later.

---

I wake to shaking. Head lolling on my shoulders. I barely have the strength to open my eyes to see who is jostling me around like this. I blurrily see his face looking panicked. A-hah, maybe he's come to his senses about letting me stay with him.

He looks past his shoulder, talking loud and fast but I can't really make it out through the cotton-fuzzed haze in my ears. I'm so tired. As my eyes close again, I get shaken, harder this time. Now it's not just annoying, it hurts too. I try to ask him what the hell he's doing but no sound comes out of my open mouth.

Meryl's face comes swimming into view and I can just make out Millie standing over her. They both look awfully worried about something. Well hell, if I walked in on Vash shaking the hell out of one of them I would probably be worried too. But they aren't mad, and they aren't looking at him.

I've crossed the line this time I guess. Maybe I should apologize?

"Priest!" His voice finally strikes through the fog and I blink up at him. He's panicking... what the hell is wrong with me now?

I can't help it, no amount of shaking is going to keep me awake. Sucking darkness is pulling my mind back into a lull of dreamless sleep. It feels too good to ignore. I can vaguely feel him shaking me harder as my eyes close, but I know nothing else after a short moment.

---

My body is pins and needles when I come to again. It's some time between daylight and night, dawn or dusk. I've never been this thirsty in my life. After a slow turn of the head, my sight falls on a hunched figure in a chair. It looks like Meryl if the size is any indicator.

"Ungh," how elegant and prophetic that was. I swallow hard to try again, but I guess a noncommital grunt was enough. Meryl snaps awake and is by the bedside in two quick steps.

"Mr. Priest, how are you feeling?" Her blue eyes are tired, but also worried.

I shrug noncommitally, my throat is still too dry to speak. She seems to know in that way nurses do and rushes to the table across the room and back with a glass of water. A sloppy, wet moment later my throat is satisfied and I've managed to soak my uppermost bandages.

"You gave us all quite a scare," she says quietly. It must be dawn then, everyone else is sleeping.

"Sorry," I croak offering her a wavering smile.

She shakes her head and laughs to herself. "You had a really bad fever a few days ago, we thought you were going to die." When she meets my gaze her eyes are watery and her lower lip is bit tight between her teeth. I lift one arm in silent offer and she balls up on my chest and cries. Who would have thought it from Meryl?

Still conscious of my aches--which actually feel far less now, I wonder how long I've been out--I pat her back and try to soothe her with my scratchy voice. She keeps bawling, and now I have the sneaking suspicion that my sickness was not her only catalyst.

"Where's Vash?"

Her sobs pause and she looks up at me in shock. Her face crumples and it's surprising to see that she doesn't break down again. "He's gone."

"Gone..." That's not entirely unexpected. It still feels like a sucker-punch to the gut either way. "Where?"

"A city over... he asked me to stay. We didn't really have a choice, I think he used your being hurt as a cover so he could go alone." She looks fleetingly angry, but soon sobers up again.

I struggle up, swinging my feet to the floor and waver. I clutch the headboard for support and then let it go, walking to where I can see my clothes folded neatly on the table. Meryl doesn't try to stop me, she's a clever one. It's still a little much to bend to pull on my pants, I get dizzy and have to sit down for a moment. She still doesn't say anything.

Before long I have my shirt tugged on but not done up. It would be too snug across my bandages. I even have a go at picking up my crucifix and manage to shoulder it after using both arms and sweating bullets.

Meryl is looking at me with a hard, calculating gaze.

"Let's go," I tell her, already walking toward the door. "Go get Millie, we have to catch him."

---

The city is pretty much deserted when we get there. Shutters are broken and there is no glass left in any of the windows. It's taken us two days to get here, it's my fault.

Millie is carrying my crucifix. It's slung across her shoulder like a light-weight satchel. I wish I could do that again. I'm too exhausted to even push it over if it were standing. She catches my intent gaze and smiles. I smile back, open mouthed so I can keep panting.

That's it... no farther.

"Go on," I gasp, resting my back against a nearby wall. My knees turn to jelly and I'm sliding down it before I have the chance to lock them. Millie lets out an 'oh' of surprise, but I wave her off when she bends to help me up. I turn my gaze to Meryl, she'll listen to reason. "Find him, this is far as I go."

Her lips tighten and she give me a curt nod. "Come on Millie, we need to find Vash before he gets himself into trouble."

"Uh..." the large woman gives me a worried look and set the cross beside me with a thud. "Coming Meryl!" She calls to the woman. Millie looks back down at me with another wide smile, "I'll leave this with you, okay, Mr. Priest? You might need it!"

I thank her and pat it with one hand. She jogs off to catch up, swinging the gigantic gun out from underneath her duster.

I can't believe I'm still this sick. The canteen on my side is half full. I take two heavy swallows and clench my teeth as my stomach riots even that. I refuse to let it back out the way it went in, and after an unsettling minute my stomach accepts it without another twinge.

My limbs are heavy and dead, I'm exhausted and I haven't been this pissed off in years. I'm worried about the girls, worried about myself, worried about Vash... Maybe I didn't die and go to Hell because this damned dustball planet IS Hell.

A shrill scream brings gooseflesh rising out of my skin. I struggle to my feet and turn to stare up into the setting sun. I can see the women being surrounded by men. Men with torches, pitchforks and rifles.

The cloth around the cross rumples to the ground easily. The short sides snap open and I pull out four pistols, one for each hip and each hand. I start my way to the cliffside, barely hearing the cries of Meyrl and Millie over my own labored breathing.

By the time I bank the hill, my sides are in stitches and my lungs are on fire; I barely have the strength to raise the pistols in my hands. One hard, resounding shot makes it through to my ears and I blink in surprise to see the men huddled around the girls back away in confusion.

When they finally shift away, I see Vash standing with a pistol in his hand. He's standing over Legato's body, the barrel still smoking in the nearing dark.

Millie's solid arm is wrapped around my waist before I notice her there. I'm thankful for the support and lean heavily onto her, she takes it with little complaint. I can see Meryl nearing Vash. Before she can touch him, he slumps to his knees and crumples to the ground in a heap. For a moment I think he's passed out or dead, but I can see his shoulders shaking.

"Come on, Mr. Priest," Millie says quietly, her voice is laced with sadness. She turns me against my will and drags me down the hill. We return to where I've left my crucifix, unattended. Without being asked, she returns each pistol to it's chamber and snaps the contraption shut, even wrapping it again.

We sit in silence against the wall. Millie has a few scrapes across her face and a bruise forming underneath one of her eyes, I feel guilty that I couldn't have prevented it. She smiles at me again, touching the swelling with the tips of two fingers as though she knew what I was thinking about.

An eternity passes before Meryl arrives, she is pale and withdrawn. Behind her, dragging his feet through the earth and staring vacantly ahead is Vash. He's bleeding badly, his jacket is in tatters around him.

Without a word passing between them, both women get us moving toward the city gates. We walk for the majority of the night, finally coming to a small, pleasant town. The people are polite and uninquisitive about our states, even for such an ackward time of the night. We're given lodging and fall into bed as the first dawn sun breaches the horizon.

---

For the first time in days, I wake the next morning instead of days later. My body is pleasantly achy instead of full of dull pain. I'm able to get myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I haven't had a standing shower in nearly two months. Between Millie and Meryl, I've been sponged down two or so times a week at least. It will be euphoric to wash myself for a change.

It was better than I hoped. It was nearly orgasmic. The warm water rolled down the fresh scars across my body, even a scattered handful of old ones. I touched several of the pink pock marks and sighed. Oh well, I never was much to look at.

There were still one or two stitches left intact. They needed to be clipped and removed. Maybe I could get Millie to help. My happy bubble was popped when Meryl began to beat on the bathroom door.

Reluctant to leave, I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist. Meryl barely registered my existance as I walked out. Her eyes were glassy from sleep as she pushed past.

Vash's door was open a crack. I couldn't help pushing it open to check on him. The entire trek he hadn't spoken a word. He was bound in fresh bandages and sleeping on his back. Maybe that's why Meryl was so exhausted. She must have patched him up after I fell asleep.

Millie was yawning at the small circular table when I found her. She waved and chirruped good morning.

"Would you mind helping me with this?" I asked, plucking at the strings across two of the patched bullet wounds I could reach.

"Sure!"

Millie plucked a knife from the table and snapped the strings evenly with deft flicks of her wrists. The strings were pulled free with a small tickle.

"All done!" Millie returned to her chair, yawning again.

"Thanks," I mumble, fingering the fresh skin. My suit fits like a dream. I haven't been fully dressed in a while. It helps me wake entirely. I think I should find somewhere to practice my aim. I haven't shot a weapon for a while, I don't want to lose my edge.

---

I spent most of the day watching the small town people bustle back and forth. I've managed to gain back a bit of my strength and have made a silent promise to drag that damned crucifix everywhere even though I don't feel threatened here.

Millie has found work mining for water in the center of town. I've never been much of a laborer, though after attempting to talk the women into letting me hustle and getting thoroughly chewed out, I was 'excused' from finding work in lieu of sitting still and keeping quiet.

Meryl has been keeping a constant vigil over Vash's bedside. To say I'm jealous wouldn't be totally off the mark. He's yet to wake, I can tell by the tired lines around Meryl's eyes and mouth.

Nightfall brings Millie home, dirtied and beaming. She's one of the most eccentric people I've ever met. Her bubbling during dinner keeps the blues away for a while. After a time she has finished and excuses herself for a bath, leaving Meryl and myself. Meryl disappears into Vash's room again and I'm by myself... alone. History has an evil way of repeating itself.

I sit in my room for much of the night, smoking cigarettes like they're going out of style. I could have quit after going so long without them, but I've never been a quitter. The suns set and the moons rise. I finally hear Meryl retreat from Vash's room and tiptoe to the room she shares with Millie. Even at the distance I can hear the larger woman mumbling in her sleep. I can't help a grin.

I light up again and lay back onto the pillows. My jacket and shirt have been tossed carelessly across the foot of the bed. It's a mild night, but the heat of the day still clings to me. All that my eyes can see is the cherry end of the cigarette. My free hand is busy touching the pockmarks of my chest and abdomen.

I hear Meryl tiptoeing back to Vash's room and I take a deep drag and hold it burning in my chest. She's talking quietly so I stand and press my ear to the door. Vash must be awake. My stomach clenches and my lungs demand air. I nearly choke out the smoke and suck in several fresh lungfuls before taking another puff.

A wail of remorse shakes the windows. I clench my eyes shut and rest my forehead against the doorjamb. Oh, Vash, weeping for the damned again.

The door is shut across the hall and I barely suppress the urge to swing mine open and yell at Meryl for leaving him alone to deal with that anguish. I hear her retreat to her rooms, this time not bothering to hide her footsteps.

When her door shuts I open mine. The loud cries have died to whimpers and wracking sobs. My own chest hurts to hear them.

His door opens easily under my hand. He doesn't bother attempting to quail his cries this time, I don't even think he knows I'm here. He's curled on himself again, knees tight to his chest and fists buried in his hair. I push his door shut and cross the room in a few quick strides.

He notices me now, looking up with a tear streaked face.

Hesitating, I reach out to touch his shoulder but he recoils as though I would strike him. "Don't." He hiccoughs, eyes wide as saucers and staring hard at my face.

I've never done what I've been told without being beaten for it first. He says 'do not', therefore I must.

I bypass the calming gesture and scowl as I grab tightly a hold of his upper arms. His eyes are wide and wet when I haul him toward me, but he only resists at first. I tug him to my chest and hug him tightly. He struggles for a minute, gasping in pain. I loosen my grip but don't let him slip away. Instead I shuffle backward until my back rests against the wall, all the while dragging him with me. Finally, he relents and leans heavily into me, shivering.

"Go ahead, Vash the Stampede," I say softly. He shivers harder when I speak his name.

"Go ahead and what?" He asks thickly, voice fogged with tears.

Tentatively I touch his hair like I would with a crying woman and massage the back of his skull. He lets out a sad mewl and buries his head beneath my chin. I'm surprised but not displeased with the effect. "Go ahead and cry."

He stiffens again, but after a short moment, he melts into tears again, sobbing softly against my chest. It's easier to listen to when I have a hold of him. Unconsciously I began to stroke his back, staring at the door over his head and make soft cooing noises as he weeps. My fingers catch lightly on the grate and dip into the multitude of scars.

Time passes slow and I don't remember when he stopped crying, only laying limp and worn out against me.

"I dreamt of this once," he whispers like a child in the dark.

"What's that?" I whisper back, unable to break his childlike innocence by speaking aloud.

"Being pet," he said just as quietly. It was only then that I realized I was still stroking his back.

I felt myself flush, the skin of my face hot in the cooler air. "When was that?"

"A couple weeks ago," he answered quickly. With a cough, he turned his face out of my chest. For a moment I thought he would back away and retreat to the other side of the bed. My hand stopped, hovering over his shoulder blade waiting to see if he would.

Now that he had calmed, our proximity was a little unnecessary. I still didn't want him to move.

My cigarette had long since burned out, the butt hanging uselessly on my lips. I spat it off the end of the bed. My fears come true, Vash sits up and away from me, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands even though his tears had dried some time ago.

"Why are you mourning Legato?"

The question even came as a surprise to me even though it fell from my lips. Vash's pliant demeanor changed quickly. His back tightened and he was suddenly at the far end of the bed, curled tightly into himself to stay as far from me as possible.

"He's a human, I had no right to chose if he lived or died." Vash was vehement.

"Legato was not human," I shook my head. His blue-green gaze was harsh, the air had dropped another ten degrees. "He was a demon who had no right to choose the life or death of those he killed."

"That still doesn't give me the right to choose," Vash bit out. I could tell he was trying not to yell or slap me.

"Sometimes you have to choose," I said softly. I scooted off of the edge of his bed and stood. The bare floor was cool under my feet. I turned to look back at him in the doorway. He had to understand... "There are things on this planet worse than death."

He opened his mouth, lips set in cruel lines, but he bit his tongue when he finally looked at me. I don't know what he saw on my face, but his mouth clacked shut and his eyes softened. In my mind all I could see was the girth of my uncle, sweaty and reeking of alcohol. With a shudder and distant glare I left, shutting his door solidly behind me.

I stood in the hallway shaking. I smelled that fat man's stench and felt his meaty hands on my flesh. I barely made it to the bathroom in time to retch.

---


	3. Chapter III

I'm still angry with him in the morning. My self-righteousness is more founded than his. Vash even exits his room for short periods of time. He's a tough nut, even with a few bullet holes. I'm a little jealous of his ability to deal with the pain.

When I finally get the nerve to leave my room he's taken the only chair on the porch. He doesn't look at me as I walk past him. I would have preferred to sit in the shade and watch the day away, but he can have it. I need some alcohol anyway.

The bar is relatively empty. Most of those able bodied men of the town are down in the well attempting to find water. I don't mind the partial solitude. I still get curious looks, but most everyone has seen me already even if they haven't spoken to me yet.

I'm half way through the cheapest bottle of whisky they have when I'm joined at the small table. I don't look up for a long moment, I don't really care who it is and would just assume they leave. By the time I sip my glass dry, they still haven't left and I take the cue to see who wants to talk to me now.

A plain faced kid is sitting beside me, watching me with a small smile. I say kid in relation to my jaded age and his innocent youthful face. He was surely no older than twenty, but certainly old enough to buy his own drinks at the bar.

"Hi," he speaks in a soft voice, oddly much deeper than I would have expected. I give him a distracted nod as I refill my glass. He isn't quite as put off as I was hoping. He scoots his chair closer to the table and steals a stale pretzel from the bowl in front of me. "You must be the Priest."

I raise an eyebrow and pause with the glass half-way to my lips. "Excuse me?"

He smiles the same little smile and breaks the pretzel in his fingers. "Millie speaks of you after work. You're a stranger here, and you fit her description, so you must be the Priest."

"Millie," I laugh softly to myself and take another sip of drink. "Yeah, I'm the Priest."

He nods, eating a piece of his broken snack and cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. I'm starting to get paranoid and begin to rethink my decision to leave my cross in our make-shift home. "Well, Priest, it's a pleasure to finally see you in person." He pops another piece of pretzel into his mouth and mumbles, "Pity."

"What's a pity?" I ask a little roughly. He looks surprised and blushes a little. He's definitely too innocent to sit with me.

The blush fades and his thin-lipped smile grows until it nearly looks like a leer. I'm so surprised that I drop the lit cigarette into my lap. I retrieve it quickly, swearing, and pat out the embers before they burn a hole into my pants. When I manage to look back up to his face, his eyes are still staring at my lap where my left hand is rubbing out the ashes. I return it to the table, but his eyes stay where they are.

With a snort, I think I finally understand. I lean into his space until he can breathe the alcohol on my breath and share my cigarette. His eyes widen, they're a nice shade of green, not as nice as Vash's, but they'll do.

"What's a pity?" I repeat again, a low, husky whisper.

"That you're a priest," he says easily.

"What if I told you I wasn't a real man of the cloth?" It's honest to say I'm intrigued. It has been some time since I've bedded anyone. Even longer since I've had a fresh-faced young man practically climbing into my lap.

His eyes narrow, but there's a familiar sparkle in them. "Well, that changes everything." His voice has more bass, it's effective in a way his plain looks are not. I have to shift in my seat.

"Do you have any sins you want to confess?" I smirk as I flick my cigarette butt out a nearby window.

"Oh, yes," he hisses, taking my glass out of my hand and drinking the remains in a hard gulp.

"Then let's find somewhere private where you can hit your knees...and beg for forgiveness."

He stands before I do, holding the door open for me. I grin, slinging my arm across his shoulders. I steer him toward the house, even from the distance I can tell that Vash has gone, the porch is empty. Perfect.

I don't think I managed to shut the door to my room before he's peeled my jacket off and nearly unbuttoned my shirt. My alcohol hazed brain clears brilliantly for a second as I look down and see the fresh pink scars across my torso. It's broad daylight, he's sure to notice.

He does, though not in the way I had expected. His fingers trail across them in awe, the fingertips cold as ice. I kiss him hard, thankful that he doesn't say a word about them.

When his knees hit the bed, he's already wriggling out of his pants with one hand, the other is buried in my loose shirt collar.

It's rough and frantic. Pants around my ankles and shirt tails waving. It takes copious amounts of saliva and more work than I remember. But Hell, it was fantastic. When he bites his knuckles as he climaxes, his eyes flash a familiar shade of blue-green and I'm screaming with him. Spent, sticky and sated, we share a last languid, wet kiss before he rolls out from under me and pulls his clothes back on.

I'm buckling my pants as I walk him out and come to a jerking halt as Vash comes in. He looks surprised, his lips in an 'o'. The kid walks past him, nodding hello, and leaves without a word. I could have kissed him again just for the courtesy.

Vash is still staring at me, my hands are frozen on my belt buckle, shirt still undone and hanging from my shoulders. I know I must look flushed, there's no doubt about what I've been up to. His face suddenly shutters and he walks past me to his room. The door to his room shuts with a soft click and it makes me wince and hurt more than a solid slam would have.

---

As the alcohol of the morning fades, I'm left feeling queasy and aching. Vash hasn't come from his room. I know, because I've been sitting on my bed with the door wide open. I can see his shut tightly across the hall.

Meryl has gone in with lunch, and again with dinner. She's come back out again with the same food she went in with both times. She looks worried and has a soft-toned conversation with Millie when the other comes home from work.

I don't even turn on a light when the suns finally set. I don't think I've moved either.

Millie walks by on her way to bed a few hours later and back-pedals to peek in. "Hello, Mr. Priest!" I grunt, her voice is too loud. She smiles but doesn't come in. "Joshua was happy tonight. He's been dying to meet you, I guess he must have, huh?"

"Who?" My head hurts, I don't need questions.

"Joshua," Millie looks perplexed, "I told him about you when you were still feeling ill. He asks me about you every night. Except tonight. He just smiled when I mentioned you."

Joshua... hell I hadn't even gotten that kid's name before I fucked him. I wince and nod to appease Millie's curiosity. "Yea, I met him this morning."

"Oh, good! He's an awful nice boy." She chirrups. "Good night!"

"Night," I mumble, feeling even worse than five minutes ago. Vash has every reason to be disgusted with me.

It isn't long before the whole house is asleep. I'm still sitting on my bed, not knowing exactly what it is that I wish would happen. Vash hasn't come asking questions, Meryl looks curious, so he mustn't have told her. In a way I'm grateful. I don't need a sermon.

Aw, hell. I stand, rubbing feeling back into my legs as I walk slowly to the bathroom. Best to get some sleep. I'll have enough guilt and venom for the morning.

On my way back, I can't help checking Vash's door. It's still shut tight. I sigh heavily and shut my door, stumbling toward the bed and fall onto it. I can't quite breathe through the pillows when a low, curt voice startles me upright.

"Why?"

Vash is lucky I don't sleep with a pistol beneath my pillows. I finally see him in the half moonlight leaning against the wall beside the door.

I don't want to have this conversation. "Why what?"

His glasses flash in the low light. They look even more ridiculous without the red coat. He turns toward me, but doesn't step away from the wall. "Wolfwood..." His voice is low and I can just sense a bit of danger in it.

I sigh heavily, feeling a little angry myself. "Because I wanted to."

Apparently, it isn't a satisfying answer. He walks stiffly toward me and stares down, his hands are balled up into fists. The linen wrapped around his torso is stained and I blink in surprise. He's torn some stitches.

"Is that all you want? Nameless, stringless..." he sputters out, sounding a little indignant, and a bit out of breath. I'm having serious concerns about his health.

"No," I admit softly, wishing like hell he wasn't wearing those god-damned glasses.

"Then wha--"

"It's because I can't have what I want," I interrupt him. I fumble for a cigarette but the pack is empty. It makes an unsatisfying whap as it hits the far wall where I've thrown it.

His laboured breathing stills, his fists have uncurled. "What do you want?"

There is true curiosity in the question and I feel like weeping. "I--it doesn't matter. I can't have it."

Vash is quiet, so am I. He doesn't know the depth of my admission. I watch in horror as he suddenly collapses. It's my turn to shake him by the shoulders. "Vash? Vash!"

"Wolfwood..." He groans out. I pick him up as much as I can and roll him ungracefully onto my bed. His stains have spread.

I have my shirt balled up and pressed to it before I realize I've taken it off. He grunts at the pressure. "What did you do, Vash?" I ask him. "What did you do?"

---

He fell asleep there...maybe just fell unconscious. I'm not sure which it is. I've been sitting staring at him for nearly an hour. I probably should have woken the women but the bleeding appears to have stopped. I don't know what I'll do now, that was my only shirt.

I took those foolish lenses from his face and set them on the windowsill. Maybe I can 'accidentally' loose them before the morning.

Vash grumbles, rolling his head. I'm standing over him like a mother hen in seconds. "Vash?" I whisper, hoping he'll wake up.

"'ck?" He swallows and struggles to open his eyes. When they finally manage to, I collapse beside him in a relieved heap.

He's struggling to move but I've pinned down one of his arms and right at this moment I don't care. He ceases after a moment and rolls toward me instead. "Are you okay?"

I nearly laugh, "Yes. Are _you_ okay?"

"I've been better," he quips and I can almost see the cheeky grin on his face through the pillow. How he can go from being unbelievably pissed at me to making stupid jokes is beyond my realm of knowledge.

I turn my head to look at him. He looks exhausted but not dying. "Thank God," I mumble to myself. He looks at me oddly, but I'm still too relieved to care. I bury my face into the pillow.

"Wolfwood?" I grunt into the pillow. "Can I have my arm back?"

I laugh and say an emphatic "No." into the pillow. It's muffled badly but he understands.

He laughs too, obviously not worried about the appendage since he doesn't tug and I don't move.

It gets quiet and I feel myself falling to sleep, but he speaks quietly and ruins it.

"What is you want but can't have?"

I stiffen beside him before I can stop myself. He rolls a little closer, I can feel his breath on my ear.

"How do you know you can't have it?"

His voice is so innocent, completely clueless. I think I really will weep. Maybe it's time to let him see, but he has to work it out himself. I lift a little, allowing his arm free before I answer. Even though he reclaims his arm, he hasn't moved away.

"Because no one can have an angel," I say to the doorway, unable to look at him when I say it.

Vash is very quiet. I can barely hear him breathe. My only hope is that he still hasn't shifted away from me. "Then," he pauses in thought, speaking in whispers, "it's lucky for you that there are no angels."

I'm a little frustrated, a little angry, mostly hurt. I expected no less. It's far more a gentle let down than I was expecting. I sit up and wipe a hand down my face. So be it.

I stand and open the door, turning back to the bed to see Vash's silhouette in the dark. It's just as well I can't see his face.

"Come on, Vash, I'll help you to bed." If my place is to be his friend, then a friend is what I'll be.

He doesn't try to sit up when I get back to the bedside. He's staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

"Vash?"

"Is that all you want? An angel?" His voice is lilting, mesmerizing. I shake my head no, but he can't see it. He rolls his head toward me, a sad smile on his face. "What would you do if you had one?"

"I'm not sure," I step forward uneasily. "Whatever I could."

He seems oddly pleased with the answer, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiles. I offer him a hand up and he takes it. I pull him up until he sits, only wincing a bit as his stitches pull tight. My bloody shirt falls to the floor. His eyes widen and he picks it up, shaking it open and looking forlornly at it.

"Nicholas... your shirt..." Vash drops it back to the floor and stands up, his face and tone are apologetic. He rests a hand on my shoulder, in a nice, brotherly fashion. My stomach drops in defeat.

His hand swings around until his arm is across my shoulders. He resets some of his weight on me and I walk him slowly to the door and across the hall. I remember vaguely asking God to allow me time on earth to stay with them... not being allowed to have him must be my penance.

By the time Vash is at his bedside, his legs are weaker and he's breathing heavier. He really needs to stay in bed for a couple of days. I bend uncomfortably to the side to lower him down onto the bed, but he doesn't take his arm away. I look up at him in question and get caught in those strangely blue-green eyes.

"Vash?" I say softly, unwilling to break his gaze.

"I..." He pauses, smiling a little so one side of his mouth curves up. His eyes have a far away, dreamy look. They come back into focus and the arm around my neck tightens marginally. I've probably just imagined it. "If you can't have an angel, would you settle for something less?"

"I don't know," I mumble, grinning to ease my tension. "Depends on who it is."

"Oh," His eyes loose a little shine.

Fuck it. I unswing his arm and help him ease back onto his bed, tugging his sheet up from the foot. He looks upset... good. When the sheet reaches his chin I let it go but still hover bent across the bed. He isn't looking at me, his eyes are closed.

"When you decide on what you are, Vash, let me know." Before I can lose what little nerve I have I press a kiss to his temple and leave. It's even harder to sleep now.

---

When I wake up in the morning, it's only after a fitful night of tossing and turning. The suns are up, I may as well be. His glasses are still sitting on the windowsill. I grin as I pick them up, perhaps I will return them to him.

Trepidation slows my feet as I cross the hall. Meryl is at the table with Millie, they spare me a curious glance as I push open Vash's door. He's asleep on his back. He should sleep all day, and the next. Maybe then he'll be able to move about more without tearing his stitches.

I set his glasses down on the small table beside his bed. As I turn away to retreat his arm snaps out and his hand latches onto my wrist. I hate how quiet he is. I stare down at him, unnerved since his eyes are still closed and his breathing is still even and shallow.

"Where's Meryl," he asks softly. His voice isn't sleep laden.

"At the table with Millie," I answer equally as quiet. I don't know what he's playing at... maybe he wants me to get her.

One eye cracks open and it rolls up to look at me. "You don't have a shirt on," he mumbles with a lopsided grin.

"I can't help that," I grin back. We both know why.

He suddenly frowns and the grip on my wrist tightens. "I'm sorry about last night," he whispers. It's in the same boyish, innocent voice from days past when he was still crying over Legato.

"It's okay," I regretfully admit. He had more right to be disgusted with me than I had a right to be indignant.

"No," he lets go and closes his eyes again. "I shouldn't have pried, it isn't any of my business."

I'm irritated at his runaround. If he wants to be angry with me, fine; if he wants to ignore me, fine; I can't take the back and forth. I'm starting to get nauseous from the motion.

I'll give him a reason to stop dancing. I realize with sudden clarity that I've been doing much the same. I can't play needy at night and distant during the day. Maybe he's been waiting for me to make up my own mind... he has just that type of irritating personality.

I touch his face with my fingertips, just four points of contact along his cheekbone. His eyes flutter, but don't open. "Go back to sleep, Vash," I growl out through a suddenly hoarse voice. "You're still weak."

The smallest of smiles curls his lips. "Okay."

Meryl pauses in the doorway, I can see her in my peripheral vision. A flush of unease flows through me. Whether I'm worried about how I look, touching Vash so blatantly; or is it worry for how Vash would feel knowing others could see? I don't dare move, and I'm afraid to stay that way.

A moment of blind panic grips me and washes out in a matter of seconds. "I'll be on the porch if you need anything," I tell him, flicking my thumb across his cheek before retreating.

Meryl is still staring at my back as I turn down the hall. For some reason, I can't help but smile as I sit in the sunlight.

---

Millie is back to work; Meryl has been fussing about the house and Vash for most of the morning.

He hasn't gotten up today, he's been a good boy. Not that it's hard for him. Despite his skill as a killer, he doesn't have a killer's heart.

The door opens behind me, I give it a cursory glance and see that it's Meryl. The small woman sighs heavily as she leans beside the chair I'm sitting in. After a moment, she sighs again. I grin, she's trying to get my attention.

"How is he?"

"He won't eat," She explodes suddenly, as though that was what she had been waiting for. "He picks, moves it about, but he won't eat anything."

That's cause for concern. I know the man hadn't eaten the day before, I watched Meryl come and go with trays of food untouched. The idiot won't heal if he won't eat.

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" Meryl lets out a huff and slides down the wall until she's sitting on the rough wooden planks of the porch. "I've tried everything."

"Have you used your feminine wiles?" I wiggle my eyebrows in a suggestive way and she slaps at me even as she stifles a smile.

"Of course not."

"Maybe that's where you went wrong," I smirk and squint into the sunlight.

She's quiet for a length of time, so long I've forgotten she's there in my drowsy state until she speaks again.

"Would you try?" Meryl stands and steps in front of me, blocking the sun and pouting. "At least once, just try. He needs to eat."

I pretend to be annoyed as I agree. I even manage a suffering sigh as I stand and clomp back into the house. Meryl has taken my chair when I peak through the window. She's got her head in her hands and I stop smirking. She's very worried. I should be more serious.

The tray on the table is still steaming. I take it up and do my best not to spill anything on my way down the hall. Vash's door is ajar, which I am grateful for. I've already slopped some water onto his bread.

His eyes are closed even though he's still on his back. He doesn't seem to have moved at all. I set the tray on a small table and walk up to the bedside.

"I'm not hungry, Meryl," he mumbles sleepily, eyes still closed.

I grin and take up a bowl of some slop or another. It's probably oatmeal. When I sit down on the bed he groans pitifully. No doubt it works wonders on Meryl.

"Stop whining," I demand, stirring the bowl and take out a large spoonful.

His eyes open slowly but there is still a bit of surprise on his face. "Wolfwood?"

"You've driven the women out, they've called in reinforcements." I grin as he rolls his eyes. "Open up." I push the spoon at him and he swats it away.

"I can feed myself."

I help him sit up, mostly against his will, and shove the bowl in his hands. "Then eat."

He stirs it as I had done, but doesn't eat. I watch him in silence. He's lost color, too pale and drawn. I hadn't noticed until now.

It's been five minutes, he still hasn't taken a bite. He's even put the spoon down.

"Vash," I frown as he looks up at me with a blank expression. "You need to eat."

"I have no appetite," He simpers, reaching to set the bowl back on the tray. His arm shakes with fatigue and the bowl falls from his fingers. I barely manage to catch it before it hits the floor. I've got oatmeal up my arm and spatters on my face.

He's surprised, trying not to laugh and fighting off a bit of mortification. He's too weak to hold up a bowl.

I wipe the stickiness off without a word. The longer I'm in his company, the more worried I'm getting for his health. I sit down on the bed again, reaching for his knee. I've miscalculated; my hand is on his thigh but I don't want to cheapen my concern by moving it. He stares at me, then my hand.

"You haven't eaten in over a day."

"I've gone longer," he mumbles, the muscle under my touch is hard as a rock from tension.

"You're hurt," I say sternly, fingers flexing involuntarily. At least he finally looks away and back up at me. "You'll waste away into nothing."

I snatch a corner of dry toast from a plate and take a vicious bite out of it. As I chew I shove it toward him, nearly pushing it into his mouth myself. He takes it gingerly, eyes cool as he watches me chew and finally takes a small bite. It isn't nearly enough but it's a start.

I lick the crumbs from my fingers as he eats the rest slowly. He watches as I do and prickles run up my spine. The last bit of crust is pushed past his lips, idly it seems since he's still staring at me with curious eyes.

Heart pounding hard I hold out my hand to him. Curious and compliant he offers his over. I raise it to my lips and glance up at him. His eyes are wide, he's stopped chewing and the fingers I'm holding twitch. He's staring at his fingers like I'll bite them off.

The crumbs come free, tasting far better than the ones from my own fingertips. I try not to linger, do as I wanted and set him free. His hand curls into a loose fist and he sets it gently in his lap.

"Eat more, Vash," I croak. I stand up away from him, unable to look him in the eye and leave the room.

Out of his sight I slap myself in the forehead. I don't know what I was thinking exactly. It was more of an impulse and I hope he doesn't shy away from me when I see him again. It was stupid of Meryl to ask me. I can't stay in the hall forever though.

I hold my breath as I push the door open. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the sight that greeted me. Vash was bent over the tray of food, picking at what lay there and eating select pieces easily.

He must have seen me in the corner of his eye, or heard the door, because he looks up at me and smiles.

For a moment I'm flabbergasted, then as I recognize a glint in his blue-green eyes I know I've been played. He's been waiting for me to come, starving himself and fuming. He's worse at manipulation than any woman I've ever met.

After gaping like a fish I stalk toward him with a scowl. He smiles brightly and opens his mouth to say something cheeky but there's nowhere for it to go once I grab him by the face and do what I've wanted for months.

His lips are pliant and damp, a bit chilled. He's raised a hand to my shoulder to push, but after a moment it just lays there, doing nothing. I drive my tongue past his teeth and abuse his a moment before sucking his lower lip and retreating. I back step, still scowling at him, and chew a bit of apple I've managed to retrieve from his mouth.

Vash is gaping, eyes half-lidded and a touch of pink to his cheeks. I'm tempted to do it again, but I leave him to his meal.

Meryl looks surprised to see me. "How did it go?"

"He's eating," I tell her idly, sitting in the chair she's just vacated.

"Really?" She has an odd combination of elation and sadness. "He ate for you?"

"Yup," I take a cigarette from the pack I left by the chair and take a deep drag from it. It's not quite as good as Vash's apple-sugared mouth.

"Good," She mumbles touching my shoulder as she makes her way back inside.

---


	4. Chapter IV

Meryl knows something isn't as it used to be. I can tell by the sidelong glances she casts at me when she walks by. I can't say I blame her, Vash hasn't been very discreet.

He only eats if I bring him the tray. Nothing so blatant as the first day has happened, I don't even sit on the edge of the bed, but in a chair beside the small side table. Vash eats, I watch; sometimes we make small talk. When he's done I take the tray back with me and he goes back to sleep.

Not quite the declaration of love Meryl seems to accuse me of. Maybe it's my overactive imagination. Maybe it isn't.

Vash is gone when I take in his breakfast tray five days later. I stand stupidly in the doorway staring at the empty, rumpled bed as though expecting Vash to materialize on it any minute.

Meryl gives me a funny look when I come back to the table with the tray. She's still staring when I sit down and start to eat off of it.

"What are you doing?" She sighs heavily.

"Eh?"

"That is for Vash," she points at the plate I'm currently picking off of.

"He isn't here," I shrug, I wonder briefly why I'm not as concerned as Meryl is currently getting.

Her chair crashes to the floor as she jumps up and runs past the table. Vash's door bangs open and I hear her muted exclamation of horror through the walls. It isn't a handful of seconds longer that she comes tearing back.

"Where is he?" She shrieks. Like I know.

I shrug, helpful as always and eat another piece of toast.

"Get up!" Meryl jerks on my arm, hauling me out of the chair while I stretch toward the plate, snatching up a bit of fried meat before I'm yanked out of reach.

The sun is unforgiving on my skin. The desert sun on any given day can be murder, but I still haven't got a shirt and thanks to my mother's genes (from what I can tell from a certain filthy uncle) I've got a fairly pale complexion.

"Vash!" Meryl's little feet kick up a hell of a lot of dust. "Vash!!"

People are starting to stare, sticking their heads out of their little shops or broken windows. I wave and grin like an idiot as I'm drug past them by an irate little woman.

Meryl comes to a sudden halt and I trip spectacularly over her, landing on my face in the sand, thankful that it wasn't a mess of perfectly pointed rocks.

"Vash!" Her voice is laced in relief.

I take a moment to spit the dust from my mouth and squint up into the sun. Vash tends to have an uncanny ability to stand in front of the sun... it must be part of his learned killer instinct. God knows it puts the enemy at a disadvantage if they can't see.

"Hey Meryl!" He waved, a blurry black hand in the flame of the sun. "Wolfwood, what are you doing down there?"

"Checking for desert worms," I grumble, dusting off my pants and squinting. I need to find a new pair of sunglasses.

"Vash, what are you doing out here? You should still be in bed!" Meryl's fists are on her hips and I step back. I can smell a fight from a league away.

"I'm fine, honest. Besides, I've been in bed for a week," Vash grins, hands behind his back. He's rocking on his heels... He's hiding something.

"Well, you've gotten some air, I suppose that's good," Meryl frowns. It's easy to sway a woman to your cause if you have a smile like his. "Let's get you back to the house though, okay? You don't have to go back to bed, but I don't want you to stray too far."

"Okay," He salutes smartly and begins his goose stepping. Meryl rushes to keep up and I roll my eyes heavenward. I'd cut off my right hand for a pack of smokes. ... Okay my left hand... There are some things a good right hand can do on a lonely night. Nevermind.

The shade and relative cool of the house is welcome. My skin is still uncomfortably warm across my shoulders. I touch one and grimace, a sunburn, perfect. And I was in the sun, what?, five minutes tops?

"Nick, come here a minute," Vash calls from his room. Meryl frowns and follows me in, wanting to know what's going on and hoping she might find an answer or two.

The tall, waif of an idiot is grinning like a fool. It's nice to be right. "What is it?"

"Ouch," He winces and touches two fingers to my left shoulder. It doesn't hurt, and his hands are cool so it actually feels rather nice.

"Yea," I grunt. "It happens when you're drug out in the sun without a shirt on."

Meryl looks briefly sorry but scowls at me. "You don't even have a shirt."

"Au contraire!" Vash crows, twirling a package on his finger. He's spouting French, this won't be good. His boyish face fades into one of mild embarrassment. He holds the package out to me with both hands.

"What is it?" I'm leery of whatever he would spend money on. I take it anyway and pull the ties open. The paper falls apart without any extra effort and a lightweight grey cotton shirt spills into my hands. I shake it open and smile a little.

When I look up, Vash has flushed and is smiling to himself. "I hope it fits, I wasn't sure..."

I slide a sleeve up one arm and shrug it on. It's not bad for a hand picked shirt. The cuffs are a little long and the chest is a little tight, but I'm not about to complain. It's soft and cool, wonderful to my burn.

"You didn't have to," I grin, running my hands across it. It must look like I'm molesting myself but I don't really care.

"But I did, I'm the one that ruined your last one," He frowns softly.

"No you didn't." I'm firm about it. I'm the one that used it as a blood stopper. "But thanks anyway."

Meryl shifts on her feet and I remember that she's there. It was easy to forget about her when she's quiet. She's so small.

"Hello? Where is everyone?" Millie's cheerful voice booms across the house. Meryl looks between us and shuffles past. "Hi, Meryl! What's for lunch?"

The big girl's on break, Meryl's tending to her; it's just me and Vash and a personal type present.

Vash is staring at his feet, the same flush across his cheeks. He's so much like a child sometimes it scares me. Mostly scares me that I don't want to taint his innocence... or that I do.

"Thanks, kid," I grin hugging him tight while he laughs in my ear.

"You're welcome," he whispers, hiding a grin of his own in my shoulder.

"So what do I owe you?" I step back, tugging the hem of my shirt straight.

"Nothing!" Vash gapes.

I give him a half-hearted leer, "Nothing? No ulterior motive?"

The man actually looks hurt. What am I doing? I can't seem to do anything remotely right around him.

"I would never– "

"Vash," I sigh, "I was joking." He clicks his mouth shut and looks at me like he doesn't believe me. I sigh again. "Really. It was thoughtful, thank you."

"You're welcome." He beams.

Bipolar much?

He bounds out of the room, caterwauling some awful tune amid cheers and clapping from Millie. He's something else entirely... I wonder what that something tastes like?

---

Evening is as uncomfortable as any other hellish one I can remember. Meryl is sulking and quiet, she barely speaks to Millie who seems oblivious. The larger woman is chattering away as she combs the dirt chunks from her. Meryl is too busy glaring absently toward Vash... who so happens to be sitting on the floor at my feet leaning against one of my legs as he cleans his gun.

I'm a horrible person. I should have seen it earlier. Meryl is in love with Vash... or maybe just infatuated. It's not like I'm an expert. All I know is that it makes me a target.

"Wolfwood, hand me that rag would ya?" Vash waves with one hand.

"I can't," I grin when he gives me a quizzical look. "Don't want to ruin my new shirt."

"The rag!" He parrots, pointing. I sigh and hand it over, smiling to myself when he returns to his vehement, nearly anal retentive, manner of cleaning.

His head is bobbing like a bird on crack. I could get dizzy watching him, so I don't and decide to recline in the chair and relax. Vash is pushed to the side with my knee, an accident, honest, and he lets out a fairly girly shriek and clutches my thigh with both hands to keep balance.

I laugh and glance up, speared through with Meryl's vicious stare. Millie's laughing with Vash, I'm more worried about what's going to happen to me when I go to sleep tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if Meryl is standing over my bed with a pillow waiting to smother me in my sleep.

I've got to figure out a way to talk to her about what's going on, set some things straight and make sure we understand each other.

I stand up, Vash calms to giggles and gives me a curious look as I step around him and hit the hallway.

"Where ya goin'?" Vash peeks over the arm of the chair.

"Bed," I sigh heavily. "See you in the morning."

"Right," Vash's eyebrows furrow but he waves idly, "Goodnight!"

Before my door is pushed tight Meryl's hand pushed through the opening. She's always been a straight forward person.

"Hurry up and come in," I say sarcastically with a frown as she's pushing the door shut. I don't want to hurt her, she'd better cut the hostile vibe down.

"What are you doing to Vash?" She demanded. She's leaning against the door, whether to keep the others out or to keep me in… maybe it's both.

"Nothing." One question and I'm already defensive. "What do you want with Vash?"

Her face fills with color, apparently she didn't expect me to be blunt. I can't help a vindictive smile. "I've seen the way you look at him. I can't blame you…"

"I don't… I don't want…" She falters, biting her lip and staring at her feet. The fight is spilling out of her as easy as that.

"God I need a smoke," I grunt as I sit on the bed. The shirt pulls tight in the reclined position. I unbutton a bit and lean against the wall. Meryl is peering at me through her hair. "Do you want him?"

A bit blunt, even for me.

She gapes, colors a bit more and sputters. "I, I don't see how that's any of your business!"

"I think it is my business," I'm trying to stay serious, honest I am. "If I've got competition, I'd like to know it. I've been on the edge of death most of my life Meryl, I'm not about to let him go because you're getting territorial."

"You can't honestly want him," She's pleading with me, with her voice and her eyes. "You're a man!"

I can't help the eyebrow arching off of my face. I'm hoping she's just curious and not bigoted. If she is, we're going to have some serious problems.

"But I do, and being a guy has nothing to do with it." She doesn't look disgusted exactly… it's actually very hard to place. It makes me a little angry, I'm about to say something stupid, I just know it. "Have you kissed him yet?"

Her lip wavers, "No."

"I have," Her eyes are wide, maybe they'll fall out of her head. "Twice."

Meryl's face pales and blossoms again in red. She's lucky she doesn't pass out with that much blood draining and rushing to her head all at once. "You're lying!"

"Oh?" I stand, suddenly furious. She practically falls out of her own way, maybe she thought I was coming after her. It worked in a way, she's not blocking the door.

Vash and Millie look startled when the two of us come clomping back into the living room.

"Mr. Priest, are you—" Millie cuts herself off as she sees Meryl's pasty, panicking face.

Vash stood up in the confusion, I can see that calm, calculation look slowly seep into his face.

His shirt is cool when I bury my fist into the collar, I haul him an inch away, stopping when I can feel his breath on my face. I'm about to do something very stupid and I would like his permission before I make a fool out of both of us, or get a broken nose. His blue-green gaze is flickering over my face, I'm staring at his lips, waiting for a sign. He licks his lips briefly, his breath hitching.

Perfect.

I can't stop a small sigh of content as I tip forward. His lips are warmer than the last time, pliant and wet. I'm startled when his fingers touch my neck. The tips are cold, and it's the first time he's ever made an effort. Just that, innocent as it was, strikes flint in my stomach and my easy kiss gets a bit aggressive.

A soft, rolling growl curls in my throat; my fingers tighten on his hip; I think he whimpered…

"Enough!" Meryl shrieks, slamming her fist onto the table.

Vash jerks back, eyes blinking haze and looking around himself like he'd been sleeping. He looks at me, down and up again—making my flesh prickle. I'm tempted to think he might be angry with me now, except before I can finish the thought a sly grin curls on his lips.

"Maybe I should by you a shirt more often."

I can't help myself, he's lost the innocent look and borrowed a debauched devilish one. I like it too. I kiss him again, quick and hard just for the hell of it and draw back far enough to stare him in the eye and share his breath.

"You should see what I do for a pack of cigarettes." I waggle my eyebrows and he laughs soft, but there's a thoughtful look on his face that makes me think I may have a pack by morning.

"Please, stop," Meryl simpers. We both look over at her, her eyes are wet and narrow, spots of color high on her cheeks.

"Meryl?" Millie touches her shoulder, "Are you okay?"

The shorter woman spins out her grasp and storms out of the door. Millie chases after her, leaving Vash staring at me in a way that isn't remotely close to the heated look he was giving me earlier.

"What did you say to Meryl?"

"Nothing she didn't already know," I promise. "She thinks she's in love with you, though." I don't smirk or laugh, this is a serious situation. "Maybe she is, I wouldn't know."

He's gaping. It would be endearing if he weren't shrugging his coat on. He's going to chase her down. I watch him dash out, he didn't even bother to tell me where he was going. It doesn't matter though, we aren't some kind of exclusive thing. We aren't much of anything.

They haven't come back by nightfall. Not that I'm waiting up.

I've drank far too much, the bottle of whisky is now empty. At least it wasn't full when I started. There had to have been at least one drink taken from it before. The walls are pulsing on my way to bed, at least the blankets are already kicked back. Between the whisky and the fatigue, sleep is sucking me in. Why fight it?

---

Maybe it's midnight, maybe it's later I don't know, I don't have a watch. There are hushed voices in the hall outside my door and my head thumps to the low beat of it.

Oh, whisky and noise do not go well together.

I groan and roll onto my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head and press it around my ears. At least I can't hear them anymore over the loud, train-pulse of my heart in my ears. My stomach roils just a bit and I ignore it, breathing carefully through my nose to settle.

It does quicker than I had hoped and sleep is sucking me back down into my head. Light spills across the wall and I clench my eyes shut even though I can barely see it. Damn them, why don't they go away? They didn't care enough to stop tearing out of the house without a word, I don't want to hear from them now that they've come back.

I growl as the bed dips a bit as someone leans across it.

There's a soft sigh and a stumble as the empty bottle of whisky is kicked accidentally. My door is pushed shut and I sigh softly into the bedding, thankful.

"Wolfwood," A soft, husky whisper. If I had been sober, it would have gone straight to my groin. However, I'm disgruntled with Vash and could give a damn at the moment.

I growl and swat feebly over my head to ward him off. I doubt it will work but he hasn't said anything else.

Vash sighs softly and the bed dips again as the man climbs aboard. Apparently growling isn't dissuading him. Damn.

It's a pleasant surprise as he slithers down into the blankets and folds himself around my side, his cool hands curve around my chest and it's blissfully comfortable. I try to stay grumpy at him, but it's mighty hard to be when he snugs up tight and breaths softly against my neck.

"Meryl's okay," he mutters. "It was an awkward conversation." He laughs lightly, it's a bit sad and I struggle to turn my head toward him to squint in the light. His blue-green eyes are more green than blue in the darkness. "She doesn't understand."

I nod distractedly and drag an arm up the bed and curl it about his waist, pulling him up tight.

"You had to choose?" I ask him with a croak. Damn that bottle of whisky.

He smiles a little and shakes his head. "It wasn't a choice." He buries his head under my shoulder and his fingers clutch a little tighter. "She would never understand."

His voice is barely audible through the mattress. But I think I get it. Meryl doesn't kill, doesn't fight, has never had the horror and sorrow in her life that is laced through Vash down to the bone and beyond.

"Did you think I would really have her instead of you?" His voice is light and full of innocence.

My heart ceases and lodges somewhere in my throat. I can't correlate an answer. That was exactly what I believed to have happened. Who would want a murderer with a shady past? I smile wryly to myself at that. I wanted it didn't I? I have the proof in my bed attached to my side.

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes are soft and his smile is sad. "Who else could think a devil could be an angel?"

I scoff lightly and set my forehead to his. His eyes are wide and his face is open.

"Kiss me?"

I blink owlishly at him, "Did you just ask me for a kiss?"

He blushes and nods a little against the sheets. Such purity from a devil? "You don't have to ask," I tell him before obliging.

His kiss is desperate, clinging and wet. His worry makes me worry. I pull him up tight and nearly bruise out lips at the pressure. I'm too drunk to come to full attention, but I can feel his erection against my thigh. I slip a hand down his side and attempt to cup it but he backs off with a soft gasp.

"Don't," he pleads, his eyes are wide and slightly damp.

"Wha—" I don't understand.

"I'd like to wait," he admits with his face pressed into the linen.

Wait for what? When I'm sober? When he can handle it? "Okay," I croak, more than a little offput. He hisses softly through his teeth and I run my knuckles across him anyway as I take my hand away in retreat.

He kisses me with a sudden heat that splits my lip at the center. It stings and copper washes over my tongue. He pulls his head away and drags himself across me until he settled in tight with his hips kept at a safe distance. "I need something to look forward to," he whispers into the dark.

"Alright," I still don't get it. I press a dry kiss to his forehead and hold him loosely as I drift off to sleep. I'm too tired and brain addled to wonder why he would need something to look forward to.

---

In the morning, my bed is empty and cold. Vash has long since gone and my head pounds.

Meryl and Millie are sitting at the kitchen table, both of them look upset over their coffee. Millie sees me in the doorway first and stands with a wail. "Oh! Mr. Priest I'm so sorry!"

She practically tackles me to the floor and hugs me. My head swims hard and my stomach lurches. It takes a valiant effort not to hurl all over her.

"What?" I manage to choke out.

"He's gone," Meryl answers for her. She doesn't look at me in contempt or hate anymore. If anything, I'd say she looks sorrowful.

"Gone where?" I glance at the door and finally dislodge Millie from my person. She retreats to the table to wipe at her eyes and sniffle into her napkin.

"He wouldn't say," Meryl pours out a cup of coffee for me and gives me a brittle smile as I thank her for it. "I don't think he wanted us to follow this time. He left in the night. This was on the table." She flicks a folded piece of parchment toward me.

My name is written across it in a sloppy slant. My stomach hurts, I hope I'm still asleep. The note unfolds in my shaking hands. A simple sentence the stops the world spinning. '_Wait for me._'

"Do we know what he's doing?" I hope my voice didn't sound that panicked to the girls as it did to me.

"No," Millie sniffs. "But it must be important."

"He'll come back," Meryl says with conviction. "He has to. He wouldn't leave you behind, would he?"

I can't believe the conviction she managed to pack into that sentence. The woman mustn't have loved him… should couldn't and mean what she just said. Perhaps it was just infatuation after all. That thought relieves me more than her words do. I don't want to separate Meryl and Vash, she's probably his first friend. And hell, if he ever decides to have his way with a woman, at least he would have the contacts to do it.

I nod distractedly and look down at the harmless bit of paper. Now last night's denial seems more important. Something to look forward to indeed… except if he dies, I'll never forgive him for not letting me.

I guess I'll just have to do what he says… and wait.


End file.
